Mountain Bike Ride
The Bread Lad.
It must have been some type of mental debility which led to a man on the verge of middle-age to be slogging his way up Whinlatter Pass in the Lake District, having decided it would be a good idea to ride up to the trail centre and meet The Bread Lad. Half term week, so parking places would be scarce, it did seem sensible at the time, like a lot of regrettable situations. Slowly a large Whinlatter Forest sign came into view, the same green signs they have all over Britain, the words Visitor Centre came into focus, closer still, the small print became legible - 2 miles. Bollox. Onward and upward, the odd shower putting in an appearance just to remind us we are in The Lakes.
A bit early for The Bread Lad, I decided to polish off the blue Quercus trail and have a spot of lunch while he got settled in at the campsite down the valley. The Quercus shares a start with the North loop of the red graded Altura trail, heading right at a bifurcation, on singletrack through the trees, a plethora of slippy roots ready to misdirect the unwary. Crossing a fireroad, it continues downhill on more open ground, puddles accumulated overnight, this morning punishing me for my lack of mudguard. The majority of the Whinlatter trails are constructed from slate type rock which is, as the old Bon Jovi album says, Slippery When Wet and any overenthusiastic cornering is chastised with heart-stopping wheel slips. Following the trail across fellsides and through woods I actually only saw two other riders, despite the full car park and the numbers of bikes generally milling about the visitor centre. The cafe was immensely full, all tables taken and a vast queue to be served, hunger prevailed, I ordered and took a seat outside to wait, sheltering from showers under a small verandah, soon donning every item of spare clothing owing to the unseasonably cold wind. It’s not that long since we were being told there would be a three month heatwave, three day heatwave and that was about it.
The Bread Lad arrived and, like a couple of terriers, we set about the Altura North Loop, which undulates for a mile or so before reaching Bob’s Traverse, an uphill grind on a narrow track with a steep drop to the right. In the minds of The Ginger One and The Pensioner, a trail feature so ridiculously dangerous it’s akin to juggling flaming torches whilst wearing petrol soaked budgie-smugglers at a pyromaniacs convention. It’s fine really, just a bit strenuous. This is followed by The Slog, a fire road grind which seems to be longer with every ascent. A quick breather, some more ascent on singletrack then the fun starts, there is still a bit of uphill here and there but mostly it’s down, down, down, culminating with the big zig zags which go in and out of the woods as fast as your cajones will let you.
Straight into the South Loop, a newly modified start making things a bit more interesting than the old fire road bashing introduction to this side of the valley. This loop is basically up then down, a long but not too arduous climb to the rocky summit of Hospital Fell Ridge followed by a fun blast downhill. Today’s descent was tempered by the slippyness of the rock and some deep puddles which were only there to remind me my mudguard was still in the shed at home. Finishing the loop thoroughly wet but grinning like baboons we visited the cafe again, for a refreshments, before I was able to make another withdrawal from the gravity bank and get my own back on Whinlatter Pass.
Wet and wind-chilled, I arrived back in Keswick somewhat faster than I exited this morning. Keswick, the only town in England where visitors feel compelled to don half a grands worth of outdoor clothing to browse round the shops, it can only be a matter of time before crampons are worn for winter ascents of Chestnut Hill. Soaked through and covered in mud, I couldn’t help feeling a bit out of place amongst the pristine Arcteryx and Patagonia, most of which has never been higher than the top floor cafe in George Fisher’s, perhaps I was in real danger of being beaten to death with a walking pole if they accidently brushed against me, so I did the decent thing and retired to The Pheasant.
Just as an aside, there is a great cyclist’s cafe newly opened in Keswick, The Saddleback Cafe, next door Keswick Mountain Bikes (although some of us old gadgies still call it The Labour Club) does a fine breakfast, amongst other things, with plenty of cycling memorabilia to browse while waiting.
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